


One Fear

by TheMidnightOwl



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batjokes, Biting, Crack, Crack Relationships, Dark Nights: Metal - Freeform, Gay Sex, M/M, Marking, Smut, crack ship, dark nights: metalverse, does this count as batjokes?, seriously why did my brain produce this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMidnightOwl/pseuds/TheMidnightOwl
Summary: The dark multiverse is collapsing.  The Dark Knights have defeated the Justice League of the light.  At their lead, a man who calls himself The Batman Who Laughs.  In an effort to save his own skin from armageddon, Joker aims for his favor.  And favor does he earn.  This mirrored self is Batman, and he is Joker; the perfect fusion of their kindred souls.  Or so he thinks.This is readable without having too much knowledge of the events of Metal.





	One Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this as comprehensible as possible without having read any of the Metals or Metal tie-ins but if you have questions please ask them so I can add more necessary context. As for the plot, I have no idea where this came from. I think me and some friends were joking about Jokercest or some shit and then this popped in to my brain and the muse wouldn't shut up until I wrote it down. I apologize in advance for how trash this is, but I hope it at least entertains you.

Batsy went and did a stupid.  Of course, no one is completely infallible.  Batsy’s super intelligence and control issues are usually his most ferocious weapons.  But any weapon can commit friendly fire.  It looks like this time, curiosity killed the Bat.  And none of his little sidekicks or Cub Scouts know Batsy’s darker sides as intimately as he does, so they can’t save him.  No, fixing this mess is going to take brains, not brawn.  Finesse.  Style.  No one does that better than the Joker.

From what he’s seen so far, the other Batsies are some manifestation of his Bat’s deepest fears.  Fears that spiraled out of control and, in a fit of dramatic irony, made them the very thing he feared becoming.  But these Dark Knights are lost.  They blame their instability on Earth Prime.  True to Batsy’s stubborn resolve, they do not think it was random selection.  Someone clearly did this to them.  Why not the one who hasn’t become what they are?  Poor lost Batsies.  Their fusions with the lesser heroes made them stupid.

Stupid, and yet smart.  They all despair, but they still defeated all the Bat King’s horses and all the Bat King’s men.  Meaning someone among them has a level head, not corrupted by Batsy’s impressively heavy angst.  Someone who has not despaired, but rejoiced.  Someone to bring all of them together without blaming one another.  Keep them focused, keep them patient.  Someone who knows the Bat well enough to appeal to any version of him.  Someone who knows those fears and how to force him back on his feet.

Oh my, he thinks.  And then laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

It makes sense.  None of his feeble minded, inferior “team mates” could compete with Batsy’s; they’d just confuse him and slow him down.  But he and Joker are one in the same.  Made for each other.  Soulmates, even.  As a pair the could rule the world.  But as one, truly one - oh yes, they could rule the multiverse.  Problem is, Joker doesn’t feel like being enslaved by himself, and he doesn’t want his Batsy in captivity, or dead.  So he needs to have a chat with this undoubtedly gorgeous doppelgängar.  

Now how to find him is an excellent question.  Following the carnage never hurts, but he’s not much of a follower.  He needs to make a good first impression.  He snaps his fingers and pirouettes, making for one of his safe houses.  The one with the fun stuff.  100 pounds of TNT and a few dead security guards later, he’s setting up the explosives on the roof of the old Sionis steel mill.  First impressions can define a friend or an enemy.  But, if one of those Dork Knights is truly a fusion of himself and his Bat, this will be received swimmingly.  He’ll be sad to see the custom ones gone - he had plans for them - but then, if these Dark Knights destroy the multiverse, he won’t get to use them at all.

“Oh, the sacrifices I make for you, Batsy,” he sighs fondly.  With one last kick-test for the supports, he lights the first fuse.  The scream from the projectile is music to his ears.  He watches in awe as the fireworks scream and explode in a fury of fire and color.  After all these years, fireworks never fail to give him the kind of honest joy bested only by his Bat.  He erupts in a fit of laughter.  “Hell Bats, if we’re all gonna die, may as well go out with a bang and a laugh.”  He dances a one-man foxtrot to the rhythm of the fire drums.

—————

The Knights have gone to defeat their light multiverse personas.  And they will succeed.  When light dies, darkness remains.  Barbatos will destroy this realm, with them as his army.  Their multiverse is headed towards extinction, but this one is alive and thriving.  If no one will let them in, they will take it for themselves.  Is it not their right to survive by any means necessary?  If any means necessary means killing quadrillions of others, so be it.  One thing both multiverses share is the concept of “every man for himself.”  It is that reason why they will win.  This Justice League thinks they’re a team, but their individual minds leave them open to influence and manipulation.  It is one of the reasons why the Justice Leagues amongst all of their respective universes fell.  The Knights’ shared consciousness as different versions of the same man make them a team unparalleled.  This Justice League, too, shall fall.  And with it, everything they hold dear.

His Robins are crowing and pulling at their chains.  He follows the path of their attention.  “Fireworks,” he drawls.  “Now who would be lighting fireworks during an apocalypse?”  When the purple and green smilies appear in the sky, he laughs.  “Silly me, who else?”

He gets to his feet and tugs on the leash.  “Come on boys, we’ve got a date.”  His grin consumes the rest of his face.  “And a perfect ending to this lovely story.”

—————

Joker waits still atop his metal stage.  The fireworks are starting to run low, and his nerves have taken the dance out of him.  Has his dark self’s mind been so consumed by his Bat’s?  No, impossible.  The Bat _always_ knows when it’s him.  He’ll come.  Joker will climb to the roof of the Pig Department and light that ridiculous spotlight if he has to.  But he shouldn’t have to.  Batsy always comes running when it’s Joker.  And he always knows when it’s Joker.

He hears birds behind him.  One would think the stupid things would say away from loud noises.  The sound is getting nearer, and is accompanied by strong footfalls.  He turns around.

The specimen is indeed beautiful, in the ugliest way possible.  Wardrobe out of a film student horror project, massive boots, spikes all around his head, but his bat-brats on chain leashes is nothing short of brilliant.  And the headgear.  He bursts into laughter.  The fusion grins.  When he catches his breath, he wipes a tear from his eyes.

“Oh my,” he laughs, “we’re _adorable!”_

“I thought so too,” the fusion agrees.

“So,” Joker relaxes his stance, “how’s this work?  Am I talking to you sometimes and him sometimes or are you something wonderfully new?” 

“I am the same,” the fusion answers.  “I am him and he is me.  The only difference is now we are one body, not two.  I freed his mind to the world of the expendability of life.  And now here we are, where every life is expendable.”

“Mmm, finally somebody who gets it,” Joker grins.  He folds his arms, one hand at his lips.  “I have wondered before what I could do if there were two of me.”

“I’m not here for pranks, Joker.  I’m here for the end of every universe, including yours.”

“Fair enough.  What’s the price tag for a seat on Noah’s Ark?”

The fusion laughs, a perfect combination of his and Batsy’s voices.  Perhaps the closest he’ll ever get to having his Bat’s laughter one more time.  “If you can prove yourself useful, he might let you live.  Personally I wouldn’t mind another one of me to talk to.  Some of these Knights are just plain batty.”

They share the laugh, and the Robins hiccup through their crows in a way that could be described as laughter.  The fusion adjusts his grip on the chains and leads them down and out.  The walk back to the spire is long, but with how quickly he got here, the fusion must have a shortcut.  They round a corner and oh yes.  Not a shortcut, even better.  Joker laughs.  “All purpose birdies now, eh?”

The fusion hooks the Robins to the harness.  “Much more useful now.  Obedient.  And they obey with a smile on their tiny little faces.”

He snaps the chains like reins, and the Robins run forward.  The lead runs on all fours; the two others slash at the air as they put their full strength in their steps.  They crow so loudly Joker is surprised he didn’t hear them approach.  The coach rolls smoothly over the cracked, uneven roads.  No traffic; all are cowering in their homes.

“So, what do I call you?” Joker asks conversationally. 

“I am he who lives in the shadows, watching and waiting.  I am the vengeance of night and the jester of day.  I am perfection realized, the joining of two destined souls.  I am the Batman Who Laughs,” the fusion declares with pride.  

Joker claps the fusion on the shoulder to keep himself from falling over in hilarity.  “Oh, oh my.  You really are part Bat.”  He wipes a hand down his face.  “Perfect title though it may be, it’s inconvenient in an argument and I’m lazy with names.”  He hums.  “I’m calling you Batjoke.”

“That is horrible,” Batjoke sounds both insulted and impressed.

“Mhmm,” Joker hums again and throws his arm around Batjoke’s neck.  "So, what is our role to play in this nightmare?  Besides being the handsomest devils in all the multiverses.”

Batjoke flashes a wicked, toothy grin.  “Realist words I’ve heard in a long while.  Our role is ringleader.  Talent scout.  Barbatos found me, and I found the rest of them.  He gave me the ability to walk through the multiverse at my leisure.  I found them, and their vulnerabilities - not difficult, mind, we’re talking about Bruce here - and I exploited them.  I recruited them to help Barbatos consume the universe, and all of its parallels.  All of you.”  The carriage comes to a halt.  Batjoke hops out to unhook the Robins.  “We’ll see.  Maybe one of them will want a pet of their own.  They’ve all wanted us, in one way or another.  We have always been a constant in Bruce’s life.”

Joker winces, and hops out of the carriage.  “Mmm… I was hoping for something a little more active.  Surely you of all people know what I feel about being a pet.  You know what we are capable of, imagine what we could do together?”

“I do know what we are capable of, and I know I am capable enough on my own.”

Joker crosses his arms.  “Nice to see you again, _Batsy._   Good to know your thick skull is still intact.”  He shakes his head.  “I didn’t set off my favorite fireworks to fight, or to be some almost-Bat’s pet.  Whatever you are, _we_ can be better.  I know it, you know it.  You’re living out someone else’s dream.  What do _you_ want?”

The Batman Who Laughs stares at him.  Or, Joker infers.  There are no eyes to see.  But this type of silence, with him, is not silence.  The half Bat is analyzing.  He stares back with a daring intensity.  Finally, the thin lips stretch into a predatory grin, which Joker mirrors.  The smile is followed by laughter.  “Yes, do forgive me.  Confrontational by nature.”  They resume walking, his hand on Joker’s shoulder.  “Heck, Barbatos may even consider a second me advantageous.  After all, you know this Justice League, no?  Their weaknesses and blind spots?”

Joker raises an eyebrow.  “They’re not actually slowing you down, are they?”

Batjoke’s lips tug in thought.  “Mmmm, no, not quite,” he squeaks, “more like a nuisance.  I was thinking it’d be amusing for the others.  To see the Justice League of the light fall and fail the same way as they did in the dark, truly a sight to behold.”  He squeezes Joker closer to him.  “No business like show business.”

“Oh yes,” Joker eagerly agrees.  “And fret not.  I’ve beaten them before alone.  With two of me?  We could paint our nails at the same time.”  He inspects his fingers.  “I sure need a new coat.  Toes are fine, though.  Those last forever.”  He looks at Batjoke.  “Or a dentist.  You’re not really doing the signature smile any justice, friend.  Presentation is everything in show business, and our trade.”

“It won’t matter soon,” Batjoke says.  “We’ll be free of mundane efforts and unappreciated showmanship.  Think of it, my unenlightened friend,” he wraps an arm around Joker again, “a whole new world, a whole new universe.  A whole new reality, bound by different laws of nature, by no morals or obligations, no money, or society in general.  The universe will be our playground, Joker.  And isn’t _that_ what we’ve always wanted?”

Joker sees it in his mind.  A universe at his mercy.  Immeasurable power at his fingertips.  Maybe even immortality.  Not jut one, but seven bats to mess with, and a twin to boot.  It’s all so wonderful, except the places where it’s not.  “Well yes, but,” he turns his head.  “I’ve always wanted Batsy to be there, too.  My Batsy.  There really isn’t a me if there isn’t a him.”

“Joker,” an intimately familiar voice coos.  He looks up at his companion.  “I’m right here.”

A chill runs down his spine.  “Ohoho, watch it now, you’ll get me all tingly.”

“What if that’s the intent?”  The chains rattle to the ground.  The Robins turn to look, but the Bat’s attention is fully on Joker.  Sensing their master’s change of interest, they take their permission to leave.

“Oh, well in that case,” Joker wraps his hand around the Bat’s waist, “do carry on, hot stuff.”

The Bat pulls him suddenly, down an opening in the tower.  He unveils a hidden passage and yanks Joker in.  When the entrance closes, Joker is surrounded on all sides by the Dark Knight.  He can see nothing, but he feels everything.  The Bat is up against him, trailing his hands up and down Joker’s sides, eventually halting at his hips and gripping.  He starts his attack by licking a stripe up Joker’s neck from collar to ear.  He stays there a moment to breathe Joker in.  “What do I want, you asked.  You’ve no idea… how long I’ve wanted to have you.”  His voice is not their voice.  It’s Bruce, only Bruce.  His Bat, who just licked the shell of his ear and is now nibbling painlessly.  “I’ve seen all of them, every universe, light and dark.  Every single one, J.  I wanted you in every one.”  His lips, cracked and dry, ghost over those of his mirrored self.  “Does that not say to you that this was always meant to be?”

“Darling,” Joker purrs, “I didn’t need any other universe to know that.”

The dark Bat chuckles against his mouth.  “True.  I know I cannot give you your Bat, and that I cannot replace him.”  He teases with his sharp tongue.  “But perhaps, maybe, we’ll still have fun together?”

“Hmmm,” The sound draws out his throat, warm and low.  His hands slither up the wall behind him.  “I’ve occasionally wondered what I’d be like in bed.  And you, you sexy thing you, you’re like a buy one get one.  Ha!  Does this count as a threesome?”

The Dark Knight pushes the coat off of Joker’s shoulders.  He pulls him in at the hips, forcing Joker to arch his back.  In response, Joker bends a knee and wraps his leg around the Bat’s ankle.  Not enough to claim, just a tease.  Or a promise.  One that makes the Bat lock his jaw.  “Whatever feels best,” he breathes In Joker’s ear again.  “Just enjoy yourself.  I’ll take it from here.”

The Bat’s hands start to explore, pushing and pulling at fabric.  He targets the most sensitive spots, because, naturally, he knows where they are.  His hips start to move, grinding Joker back in to the wall.  The more he’s teased, the more Joker giggles.  When those giggles become gasps, it’s the Bat’s turn to chuckle.  He continues his ministrations until he can feel Joker’s arousal in the leg he’s trapped.  In a few methodical moves Joker’s torso is completely bare, his suspenders falling loose at his sides.  His skin pimples when the cold air strikes.  The thick leather of the Bat’s clothing does nothing for warmth.  The metal detailing burns his fevered flesh.  Two soft gasps turn to a moan when the Bat kisses the crook of his jaw.

“Come on, you vanilla bastard,” Joker goads, _“persuade_ me.”

The low, hungry growl from the Bat’s throat vibrates on Joker’s neck.  With one hand the Bat has his trousers open and down enough for him to reach Joker’s hardening cock.  His hands are freezing but fuck if that doesn’t complement the heat Joker is radiating just perfect.  His other hand is pressed to the wall next to Joker’s head.  It moves to hold him by the neck, then by the jaw, turning his face.  Joker’s confusion is palpable but short lived when he bares his teeth and bites down _hard_ on the exposed flesh.

Joker keens.  All of the tension in his form expels.  The Bat Who Laughs takes advantage of this newfound malleability and turns Joker around, shoving him against the wall hard enough for friction but careful enough not to harm.  Not that Joker wouldn’t still enjoy that.  Just the Bruce in him.  The pinstriped trousers and bright green boxer-briefs are shoved out of the way to pool at his ankles.  Joker huffs out airy laughs, enjoying the cool steel of the wall and everything that’s happening behind him.  Buckles and locks clicking and unhooking leather and metal.

“Just don’t tell Tetch,” Joker breathes on the backs of laughs.

The Bat laughs with him.  “You too, eh?”

Joker rolls his shoulders and neck.  Each pop and crack feels better than the last.  When he’s properly ready, he puts a few inches between himself and the wall.  It’s likely he’ll end up flat against it again but, for now, he opens his legs.  The Bat Who Laughs accepts the invitation and, without warning or preparation, pushes in.  It earns a startled gasp, and transitions into a pleasured huff.  Joker pushes back after two more thrusts.  He’s quick to adapt.

One hand holds Joker’s hip, the other finds his hair and tugs.  The Bat switches between a tight grip and tugging the clown’s head whichever direction.  Usually up, so he can hear Joker choke on his soft sounds of pleasure.  “So - _rough_ \- around the - edges,” the Bat times his words with his thrusts.  “We - _really_ \- should have -  _done_ this - “ he hits a spot that makes them both groan, “- _years ago_.”

The acoustics of the passage amplify and throw back Joker’s laughter.  “Darling,” he grunts, and cranes his neck to see.  “We’ve been doing this since the start.”  The Bat grins a sinful grin, and hardens his rhythm.

The scrape of metal on his scarred skin feels marvelous, but - “You know love, ah, this is starting to feel - _fuck_ \- a little unbalanced.”  Fingers wrap around his throat, threatening to squeeze.  A shudder rips through him.  “One of us is wearing too much.”

The Bat’s rhythm falters.  Joker’s hip loses its possessive hand.  “Trust me, pet,” the Bat nearly whispers, “you don’t want that.”

All has gone quiet and still.  Yet the silence is screaming with whatever happened to this creature.  Joker pushes back to take the Bat to the hilt.  “We were doing something,” he purrs, low and sultry.

Those dominating hands find their holds again.  Sharp, cracked nails dig into his skin, prepared to draw blood.  He shivers.  “Yes,” the Bat says.  “Something long overdue.”  Hd starts his motions again, gaining momentum and confidence, until he meets and surpasses his previous heat.  His hands find all the right spots to guide the angles of his thrusts however he pleases.  Joker takes every tug and pull with glee, shamelessly vocal in his pleasure.  And positively melts when his prostate is struck.  Rather than target it, the Bat neglects it.  Timing is everything.  Joker is sweating, and starting to pant.  The Bat reclaims the clown’s jugular and presses.  Sound can still leave that gorgeous mouth, and it vibrates up his fingers, his arms, and straight down to his groin.  He deepens his thrusts and manhandles his pet to hit his prostate selectively.   He’ll tear this alter self apart.

The only sounds Joker can muster now are small, high notes of bliss.  His legs are trembling from the torture and his arms are giving, holding him at the wall.  Within a few more forceful snaps, Joker shudders violently and cries a desperate “oh, Bats.”

The Bat laughs in triumph.  But he won’t last long, either.  The arm on Joker’s waist slithers around and up his chest and squeezes.  The hand around his throat changes grip to expose the neck and he bites his previous mark _hard_ through his release.  He doesn’t let go until he tastes sugar and metal on his tongue.  When the blood flows, he laps at the wound to drink and clean.  Joker mewls through exhausted giggles and melts into the Bat’s claiming arms.  In turn, the Bat drags his hands down Joker’s back as he crouches to retrieve the other’s pants.  Still thrumming through the aftershocks, the two redress and smooth out their features.

His ensemble restored, Joker leans back to crack his spine.  _“Damn,_ I’m good.”

The Bat Who Laughs wraps him softly in his arms again.  He nuzzles his mark and hums in agreement.  “Made for each other.  Always.”

Joker reaches up to stroke a steel ear.  The metal is smooth and strong, like the man who wears it.  “Just curious,” he says conversationally, “how do you see?”

Bared teeth ghost over the wound.  “Bat Sonar.”

Joker lets his head loll, mindful of the spike that settles next to his ear.  “More than just a man.  My Bat, so… perfect.”  The shift in emotion is palpable.

The Bat hugs him closer.  We are perfect, he and I.  Now I and you.  Us.”  

They sit in silence for a moment, breathing together.  The Bat Who Laughs is the first to break the moment.  His hand slips down to take Joker’s hand, and they walk together.  Outside the passage, hidden once again, the Bat Who Laughs puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles.  Nothing happens at first, but soon Joker can hear the frantic clicks of claws on the metallic ground.  The Robins round a corner, frothing at the mouth and chains clambering behind them.  They circle their master - or mast _ers_ \- allowing him to recapture their leads.  He pats the head of one.

“Someone found a snack,” Joker points at one of the Robins, sucking the last strips of meat off a broken bone.  One of the others tries to steal it, and they fight with teeth and claws.  The Bat pays no mind.

“They have… unusual tastes,” the Bat jokes.  Joker grins at the little devils, who pause for a moment to return one before resuming their quarrel.  “Ah, perfect!”

It takes a moment for Joker to register what he’s seeing.  There are a lot of bats and a lot of Justice League being dragged by their ankles.  “Well, whaddaya know,” he quips, “looks like your Batsies did just fine.  Is my golden ticket void now?”

“Oh no,” the Bat Who Laughs says in a voice Joker recognizes in himself.  The all-knowing tone of a man victorious.  “You still have a roll you can play.”

Joker gazes up the spire.  There are people tied to it; it looks like the Justice League will fare the same fate.  One of the prisoners is Harley.  “Got yourself into a mess this time, didn’t you,” he mumbles in an unusual state of sympathy.  His eyes run across all of them.  None are his Bat.

“So, Batsy was the one that opened the door, wasn’t he?”

“More than that,” the Bat Who Laughs drawls, “he _is_ the door.”

Joker’s lip pouts.  “In what way?”

“Oh, don’t worry, pet,” the Bat kisses his cheek, “he died a death worthy of him.  Barbatos comes, and it’s all thanks to him.”

Joker stops and doesn’t let go of the hand in his.  The Bat turns.  “You said you couldn’t give me him, you didn’t say because he’s _dead.”_

The not-Bat’s lips tug down, confused.  “What else would he be?”

With fury, Joker gestures to the tower.  _“Not dead._   What the hell’s the point of the end of the universe if I can’t watch the horror in his eyes?  I’ve spent my whole life trying to break him and you took it from me?  Who do you think you are?”

The false Bat grins and suddenly Joker understands every time Batsy has wanted to punch the look right off his face.  “I am better.  Better than you, better than him.  I am the purest form of our love.”

Joker snorts.  “Sweetie, you think anything about you is even close to me anymore?  You tote Batty Boy’s bat-brats all over the cosmos and let yourself become some spook’s messenger.  In what universe am I okay with being someone’s bitch.”  He eyes the fusion from head to toe.  “Well, apparently, whatever universe _you_ came from.”

The false Bat slams him into the tower, hundreds of feet below where the Justice League are being hung.  “He needed Bruce to be the door.  It was his design for millions of years.  It was always going to be Bruce.  _Only_ Bruce.  And I am his student.  You think I am his subordinate?  He chose me because I could get it done.  I know Bruce, inside and out, before and after our coupling.  What universe it is doesn’t matter.  He’s my Bruce, my Batman.  I answer to no one but my own will to see this universe shrivel and die like an ant under a child’s magnifying glass.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Joker sings, “‘coupling.’  Indulge me.  When you say that, are you referring to when you became one body, or did you actually get what every iteration of us would want more than anything in any universe?”

The Batman Who Laughs says nothing, but his grip does not falter.  Joker’s grin stretches wide.  “You never got that far, did you.  Never got what we just did, which still doesn’t count as either of us scoring.  Is that why you had to do it?  You couldn’t be _his_ bat-bitch but you could be _someone’s._   And you, you mall-goth Edgelord, fell for the ‘place alongside him’ bullshit.  How many times have we used that one?”  He finds his position.  “There is no One.  There is the Bat, and there is me, and there is us _together._   To the end of the world.”

Bracing himself against the wall, he jumps and kicks the Bat Who Laughs in the abdomen, freeing himself from his grasp.  The Robins converge on him, but he wraps them in their own chains before they or the not-Bat can grab them.  They croak and whimper as their master faces him off.  “End of the world’s here,” the not-Bat growls.

“No it’s not.  He isn’t here.” Joker takes a ready stance.  “You wanna know how I know you’re no Joker anymore?”  The false Bat’s teeth are bared, feral and furious.  Joker produces a throwing card.  “You’ve got nothing up your sleeves.”

He aims for the not-Bat’s stupid face and gives chase.  Surprisingly, the weapon hits its target, but with no affect, which he expected.  The Bat Who Laughs leaves his pets.  Tapping steps are pursued by thudding footfalls.  It’s almost like old times, except this is not his Bat and this is not their playground.  None of this is right.  Not this apocalypse, not this fusion, not this sex - although he has to admit it was sinful in all the right places.  None of this is them.  There is no Clown Prince and Bat King here.

He runs deeper into the spire.  If this thing is Barbatos’ golden ticket to their world then whatever’s in here is what he wants.  After an eternity in a labyrinth he finds himself at a pool of dark, sparkly matter.  Maybe antimatter.  Doesn’t matter.  His Bat is here.  He can feel him.

“You moron,” he whispers.  “You’re so predictable you had a prophecy.  Shit’s hit the fan and you left me behind.”  A tear cascades down his cheek.  His hands ball to fists to keep them from shaking.  “If you’re dead, I’m killing you again.  You and me, together, to the end of the world.  You promised.”  He steps over the lip.

Ask anyone who knows of the Joker, they’ll say he’s a psychopath.  Fears nothing.  Ask anyone who’s met him or worked with him, they’ll say he’s crazy sometimes, and has “balls of steel.”  (Those that have worked with him aren’t exactly auteurs.)  Ask Harley Quinn, she’ll say he hates the idea of death.  He does everything he does not _just_ for the Bat, but because he wants to flip off death as much as possible before it finally catches up.  

But if you ask Batman, he’ll also say the Joker does have one true fear.  He fears being alone.  He fears losing that which gives his life meaning and purpose.  The lone Clown Prince, humble and loyal to his Bat King, would be naught without his presence.  The only one capable of truly knowing the Joker, and he got his stupid ass killed.

And so, lost and anxious, the Joker follows his king into oblivion, where they will find a way back, or be together at last.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far congratulations you strong-willed soul. Feel free to say *anything* about it. I hope it was at least an entertaining ride. (Oh, and if you get the Tetch line, you get a high five) <3


End file.
